


yesterday is gone and you will be ok (place your past in a book)

by allmenarepigx



Series: you used to be beautiful (flowers wilt too) [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, F/M, Fem! Kuroko, M/M, idk what kind of au but an au of some sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:28:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmenarepigx/pseuds/allmenarepigx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June comes and goes. </p>
<p>Furihata finds himself staring at the ceiling every morning before he drags himself out of bed. </p>
<p>He often wonders, in those moments, what happens to people when they die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	yesterday is gone and you will be ok (place your past in a book)

Tears track down his cheeks. He breathes in the warm, comforting air. Despite the temperature his nose burns like he had been outside on a snowy day far too long. Fingertips brush against his cheeks like the softness of rose petals, taking the big teardrops away with delicate strokes. The water seems to sink into his pores, never to come out of his skin again. It was as the water that was absorbed was the representation of someone who was drowning, the churning depths of unstoppable waves taking over their body. 

He feels like he is drowning - surrounded by sheets of fine silk and the caring gaze of a man who never understood the concept of how to save someone. It was careless of him to hold on to the red-haired male like they were in love, like they were together. How do you stop yourself from coming back to someone your heart lurches for, lives for, despite the fact they are eternally bound to another? 

The night air was as beautiful as the slips of silver light that slip in to illuminate the room. Furihata could feel the coolness of the blankets that wrap around his waist, a man above him. The tears drip onto the precious material, like the pitter-patter of rain on days where he was cradled against the man as they watched the gardens outside. Except flowers don’t bloom in the dark days unless they are open to the night. 

Hums of his name cause him to look up at the man who had just finished making love to him. He should be exhausted, should feel surrounded by euphoria and love, but his heart was as dark as the room they were laying in. 

“Kouki,” he hears a calm voice. He can barely bring himself to look at the man, yet he peers up through blurry eyes. The beautiful heterochromatic eyes were the most precious thing in the world to him, full of an unstoppable longing as they latch on to his own brown orbs thirtily. “Kouki, I love you.” 

So he cries harder and harder, his eyes closing as his body wracks with sobs. He hears a sharp intake of breathe, and knowing that he had broken the other’s heart along with his own, he can’t help but feel the slightest bit better. 

 

Bells chime through the air and Kouki is laying in his bed, back at his own house, as he hears his mother chirp that it was time to get up. There was something about her happy tone that made it crushingly harder to rise from his futon. 

Gone where the silk sheets, and haunting nighttime. It was replaced within the course of a couple of hours, with a lively air that he could hear the villagers chirping downstairs at the floral shop his family owns. He could smell the different plants, freshly cut and water flowers. He stares at his plain ceiling for a moment, his heart aching for something more. 

He gets up to get dressed and his heart is leaping in his throat with each step. He feels dizzy, yet empty. 

He wishes he wasn’t such a selfish person. He wishes that he didn’t wish to wake up to a ceiling that had been sculptured like the rest of the timeless architecture throughout the mansion. He wishes that he didn’t wish to stay forever by the side of the a red-haired man, and pledge his love for him - 

and yet, most of all, he hates that he wishes the man the happiest things in life despite everything he had stolen from Kouki. 

He feels a tear race down his face and aggressively wipes it away. He swallows and walks into the small bathroom he shares with his parents, washing his face in the basin, the cold water waking him up. He heads out into the cramped living that comes from living on top of an already-small shop, grabbing some leftover, stale bread for breakfast before heading downstairs to help his parents. 

His parents greet him in the middle of work, and Furihata immediately puts on an apron and asks what he can do to help. 

“We’re getting a lot of sales today,” his father tells him cheerfully. “It seems like the wedding is causing people to buy flowers to throw and keep. Not to mention the huge load the prince ordered from us already.” 

Furihata hums in reply. Light streams in through the windows, he would guess it was around ten in the morning. He hears the bells chime and more people come in. He makes himself busy, helping the people with their floral arrangements or offering assistance. 

“I can’t wait for Sei-kun’s wedding,” says one girl to a boy beside her, whom seems out of place in such a shop. Furihata’s eyes snap towards her as he dusts, seeing a beautiful woman with pink hair and an equally handsome tall, handsome youth around Furihata’s age He had dark skin in contrast to the girl’s pale skin. His mouth runs dry at the words and he bitterly takes it anyway, trying to not let it show as he walks over to the couple that just entered. 

“Um, hello,” he says softly. “Is there anything I can assist you in finding today?” They turn back to him. 

“No,” the boy says at the same time the girl says, “Yes.” 

A glaring contest of some sorts begins between the two. If Furihata had not been so nastily wrapped up in his own mind he almost would have thought these were the kind of people he would be friends with - if he was a noble or rich in any way. The navy-haired boy finally sighs and turns away, which Furihata takes as a sign of giving up due to the girl’s pleased look. 

“I’m looking for some kind of flower that says, ‘I’m happy for you,’ or , ‘Good luck,’ or ‘Best wishes for the future.’” The girl says, twirling a piece of long hair as she thinks. “Do you think you have anything of the sorts?” 

Furihata snaps his fingers. “How about white heather mixed with a couple of bachelor buttons?” Seeing confused looks, he leads them over to the flowers. He points out the white heather. “White heather represents ‘Wishes come true,’ and bachelor buttons represent blessing.” 

The woman clasps her hand. “That sounds perfect! Thank you…!” She trails off with awkward happiness, sending him a sheepish smile. Furihata remembers he forgot to tell them his name. Blushing, he ducks his head. 

“Furihata Kouki.”

“Well, thank you Furihata Kouki -- you really helped me out!” She laughs in a trill, musical manner. It was as beautiful a noise, as happy as the pretty woman looked. She was obviously from a higher class than he, Kouki could tell by her golden dress, the man’s ironed suit. “My name is Momoi Satsuki and this is Aomine Daiki.” She gestures to the man beside her. 

“It’s nice to meet the both of you, thank you for coming to our shop.” 

“It was no problem! We’re in town for a good friend’s wedding and had to do some last-minute buying because someone,” a pointed gaze in Daiki’s direction, who groans, “forgot to buy something in advance.” She sniffs exasperatedly. She turns back to Furihata. “This is it! Thank you very much, but I’m afraid we have to go. Can you please ring us up?” 

He nods and heads towards their cashing desk. They follow behind, Momoi scolding Aomine the whole time. They were like the “old married couple,” people joke about. Furihata smiles at the thought. He gives them their price and they pay, wishing him a good day. 

“Maybe we’ll see each other at the town’s huge party for the wedding,” Momoi flashes him a smile as bright as the sun. Daiki scowls at this exchange. 

“Maybe,” he lies. Furihata has no intention of participating in his wedding of any sort, including the party. He wishes them a good time and they walk out. 

More people come in and out throughout the day. The shop is more cramped than usual, and Furihata is busy until it is finally noon and the business has quieted down. The wedding, if he recalls the information correctly, is set for two o’clock. His mother gives him some extra money and asks him to go get new bread, seeing as they made a huge profit. He grudgingly does as he was ordered, internally resentful. 

Walking outside, he is hit with the merry air of Rakuzan townspeople. He walks three blocks up to the bakery in silence, listening to the chatter of people dressed in their best clothes for the wedding, did you hear about the prince’s wedding, are you doing to the prince’s wedding, I can’t wait for the prince’s wedding --

He’s just about snapped by the time he bursts through the doors at the bakery. He hears the people laughing and walking by the window. His hands are sweaty, and not the kind of sweaty from holding on to silk sheets while you lay in bed with your lover sweaty. Its disgustingly too hot and too cold all at once, and his throat feels too dry. His stomach churns at all the food, like if he looked at it or -- God forbid -- attempted to eat it right then he would throw up. 

Nethertheless, he steels himself over and walks up to the counter. Hyuga Riko is there, her husband Junpei rolling dough in the back. Though the baker’s wife couldn’t cook much herself -- or, at least that’s what he heard -- she was always attempting to help and mostly dealt with the customers.

“Furihata-kun.” she nods, noticing him. “How can I help you?” Her blunt words were no surprise. 

“Just one loaf of french bread, please,” he asks. She nods and gets one out of their cupboards. It was freshly baked, still warm and crisp. He pays her the correct amount and walks back home for lunchtime. 

He walks quickly, trying to block out the words of others. He looks up, seeing the town clock mark twenty minutes past twelve. The dread of how slowly the day is going by due to the wedding makes his heart stop. The shrine in which the wedding was the biggest shrine throughout the whole kingdom, the most special one. Of course, he thinks bitterly. Akashi only deserves the best. 

After the wedding, it was ritual for the couple to be lead around the time in a carriage, so that everyone can greet their new future leaders. According to his parents, it was just as beautiful as a ceremony as when Lord Akashi, Seijuurou’s father, and his mother got married. 

The wedding ceremony involves both parties to swear their eternal love and care of each other. They sign their names and it goes down in the history of list of people who were married. Furihata Kouki wonders what the bride looks like, but not because of he was vain; he wants to know Seijuurou’s wife looks like so he can make it final with himself and let go of the one as the carriage rolls by. 

He longs for comfort in knowing that Seijuurou was going to be fine, that he was going to be in the caring hands of someone who would eventually would love him and he would love back one. He prays that he is forgotten about, because it is the only way he could get his heart broken and remade all over again. 

Life without Seijuurou Akashi was already like living without breathing. It had been even worse to see the prince, to have him hold Furihata in his arms the night before only to see a bit of his heart withdraw with every day closer to the ceremony. It was here, there was no denying it; right now, Seijuurou was in a room getting into his kimono, and the bride was in her shiromuku.

She was probably a gorgeous foreign woman, and would make an exceptional empress and wife. She would bear Akashi sons and daughters, something Furihata couldn’t do even if Akashi and he got together. He was a fool, one who was in love with a soon-to-be emperor who engaged to someone the moment Furihata’s lips had met his. 

Furihata opens the door to his parents’ shop -- and some day, his own -- mechanically. When he walks in he’s greeted by the smell of roses and lavender and carnations, the smell of home. The smell of walking into a room you’re been in all your life and feeling isolated from humankind in your own misery. His mouth tastes like he had eaten a lemon. His wounds felt like they had been hit by lemon. It was like the bitter fruit, it was like the acidity was storming in his stomach. 

He heads upstairs were faintly he could smell his mother cooking lunch. His father was probably outside in the back of the shop, where they grow flowers that had the most need for direct sunlight. He walks up the stairs and opens the door that separates their house from their shop. The small sitting place was off to the right, and Furihata pushes through the door right next to it to enter the kitchen. His mother was cutting carrots and celery, making what looked like a stir fry. He places the fresh bread on the clean counter.

His mother looks up and smiles at him. She wore her usual gentle smile; Furihata always wanted Akashi to meet his mother. Maybe, in a different life, Furihata’s mother would have had the pleasure of meeting his most beloved prince and asking him to stay for supper. He snaps back to reality when his mother asks for help. He gathers the bowls and she places the rice which she had put off to the side first in it, then scoops the vegetables and meat inside. He sets the bowls on the counter and grabs his chopsticks, his mother following his example. His father comes upstairs, chirping a grateful line or two. 

They eat in silence. 

His mother breaks the silence. “After this, everyone should get ready. We’ll lock up the shop and go down to see the prince and his new bride pass by.” His father hums in agreement and they move on to talk about how busy it had been today. 

Furihata doesn’t put in his own thought. He picks at his food slowly, fearful that if he ate all of it he would get sick. Not that he had an appetite. 

His parents go to take off their work aprons, and he follow suit a couple minutes later. He notes his mother’s worried look, and shoves them off of her with a smile that was so painful to make it was like glass was placed on his lips. 

They head outside, and his father locks the door behind them. They make their way to the main street that the young prince and newly wedded wife would pass by on. Riko and Junpei join his parents, and he is left to stand beside their son, Hyuga Teppei. He was a nice boy, one year older than Furihata. He had large hands and he was enrolled in the army until an enemy caused his bad knee, so he went back to helping his parents around the bakery.

“Hello, Furihata-kun!” he greets cheerfully, clasping a hand on the boy’s arm. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing fine, thank you,” Kouki answers, though it might have been unconvincing by the look Teppei gives him. “No, really. Thank you for your concern, though. How are you?” 

“Excited for Akashi-kun’s arrival, no doubt,” the tall boy replies. “Everyone in Rakuzan is celebrating. The party is actually being set up for right now, I think.” 

“That’s what I heard, also,” he agrees, remembering when Seijuurou was telling him about this many nights ago, the night his heart was torn out. He could remember, could almost see the heartbroken eyes in front of him. Liar. Seijuurou had known all along. Furihata’s hand was just barely shaking. Red-hot anger courses through his body. He was lying to my face. I doubt he ever loved me. 

When they reach the crowd, Furihata could just barely see over the large group of people. It wasn’t that he was extremely short, no, he was average height. It was that there was a huge crowd of people crowded around. He sighs resignedly. 

Inside of him, it feel likes the crowd is the waves that is drowning him. So many people, different colors swirling, constant whispers of, “Akashi-kun,” and “new wife.” He feels lightheaded, the whispers echoing and echoing until he felt like he was going mad. He clutches his ears, tears pricking at his eyes. You’re not strong enough for this. You’re pathetic. This is why he’ll never love you again. 

“Hey, Furihata-kun,” come Teppei, lifting his voice over the crowd. “Are you okay?” The boy’s dark brown eyes are watching Kouki in concern. 

“Yes,” Furihata snaps. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t feel good when his heart was screaming for Akashi. Nothing felt real, it was as if this whole situation had never happened to him. He wishes it was true, that he had never been the prince’s lover, never spent a night wrapped up in a chamber with someone who was impossible to touch was making love to him. His heart was burning from within him, like someone had carelessly taken the beating organ right from him. 

And then it happens. 

The loud chime of bells ring throughout the kingdom, and as everyone screams their joy and congratulations, it was as if the world was silent. Like no one was making noise, and the people around him were frozen with their mouths wide open, caught in a frozen trance the same way ice freezes overnight in the winter. Furihata is alone, he was surrounded by people dressed in their best clothes, but no one was touching him despite the utmost crowdedness of the townspeople. 

And then the noise broke through and he snaps back into a quick reality the minute he hears the clicking of horses’ hooves against the cobblestone ground. He can peer and see the magnificent carriage pulling the newlyweds, can see a handsome red-head smiling and waving his hands at the villagers as if he wasn’t hurt, as if he was excited. 

As if he had never broken Furihata’s heart and then utterly destroyed his heart the minute he glimpses into Furihata’s eyes as he passes by. 

He never caught a look at Seijuurou’s bride; no one seems to know what the prince’s bride looked like, pondering if she was actually really in the carriage later that night when he can hear his parents whispers while he lies in his bed looking at the ceiling. 

He knew that it was over.

 

June comes and goes. 

Furihata finds himself staring at the ceiling every morning before he drags himself out of bed. 

He often wonders, in those moments, what happens to people when they die.

 

July brings a couple of rough rain storms, which is just what the flowers need to survive the harshness of the sun. Plants seem to blossom into beautiful things when they receive both water and sunlight continuously. It gives major growth to the freshness of the business. 

He often wonders, in those moments, if the same can be applied to someone who is drowning. 

 

Summer was flying. It was coming to a close, and people were bustling to prepare for fall. The air gets cooler in the mornings and evenings, but remains warm during the day. Furihata waters the flowers, cuts off ones read to be put out on display and nurses the young ones to full bloom. The shop has the usual occasional customers, but nothing big since the wedding. 

No one in town has seen the bride, their future empress. Furihata can feel the suspicious air of the townspeople and their mumblings of the subject. It’s gotten much quieter as the season goes on. 

Fishermen are wary of the summer’s ending, because once a year there was usual a big storm. Not one that horrific, but one that caused a little havoc despite how well prepared they were for it. One could only be as prepared as nature makes it, after all; Furihata thinks this applies to his own business at the floral shop. This was a good year for his family’s small shop, and it actually makes Furihata smile. The flowers seem to grow strong and keep for a long time. They look like soft silk on firm stocks, and smelled like new beginnings. 

This thought especially causes a smile. “Smiler even wider,” his mother used to tell him when he was a child, on a day she tickled him and caused him to shriek with laughter and have the biggest grin in the world. 

So he takes the somber advice from years ago, despite no longer being out of breath for good reasons and does just that. He smiles wider. 

 

In the end of September, the storm comes. It causes people to lock up in their houses and the two to be quiet. Those who lived by the ocean seeked refuge with other closer inland. Fishermen grudgingly refuse the sea, their second home, instead sticking as close as safely possible to their boats. 

Furihata is downstairs, checking on the flowers. They had managed to bring majority of the flowers indoor in the case of possible flooding. Wind howled outside, rain pouring down against their windows. Upstairs, a small leak had appeared in the ceiling. They had to maintain dryness by constantly keeping a bucket under the spot to ensure their housing wouldn’t get full of water. He wishes there was some way they could find wood and fix the roof, but it was too dangerous to tread outdoors. 

Just then, a large clap of thunder roared, and he could make out lightning. It got like this for a week or two every summer, but it never was something to look forward too. The unease of the usual boisterous, bustling town was unsettling at the least. 

He hears knocking on the door and is momentarily astounded, before realizing it was probably the wind knocking against it. He resumes his work in watering the flower, checking on them and throwing away the few that were dead. He hums a tune to himself, before hearing the knocking again. He decides to check what it was. Hopefully it won’t be too bad, or didn’t damage the door. 

He opens the door and is immediately almost drowned by the onslaught of rain. He blinks the water out of his eyelashes and squints his eyes against the wind, looking out to see what was going on. There was nothing in sight, and he’s baffled with himself. Maybe it was just the storm playing tricks on my eyes, he thinks. He turns around when he hears it. 

“Excuse me.” 

It’s a soft, feminine tone - one that barely reaches his ears above the howl of the wind. He whirls around, eyes widening in surprise to see a small figure wrapped up tightly in a brown cloak. He can’t make out the person’s face, but he guesses that is is a girl. How did I not notice her? Furihata’s heart was still pounding in his ears at the surprise of the girl standing in front of him and he supposes he looks awful silly, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. 

He opens up the door and ushers her inside, feeling the damp material of the cloak beneath his fingers. Grimly, for a second, he remembers Akashi had a cloak like this… 

Snapping out of his thoughts he makes sure no rain is getting inside after the door is closed. He stares at the hooded figure, watching the person’s back as they reach gloved hands up to the hood and push it off of their head. 

Blue curls cascade down the girl’s back, and she turns around to look at Furihata Kouki. He’s shocked by her presence; if he had not been the one to lead her in through the door, he would not have guessed she was even here. He’s never seen her before in town, and the glimpse of the dress he can see on her is simple but expensive. He wonders if she was a noblewoman, one of the ones who rarely goes out due to their lavish life. It would explain why he has never seen her before, though not her aura. Most nobles Furihata has seen have a prideful, arrogant aura -- not one that is barely noticeable. 

“C-Can I help you at all?” Furihata stumbles over his words. He was still shocked. Why would she -- why would anyone -- be outside in the storm? 

“I need flowers,” the girl’s quiet, though light voice gives off straight-forwardness. “Do you have flowers that mean ‘get well soon’?” 

“Daisies,” Furihata says automatically. He leads the girl to the back of the store, picking out daisies out of their bucket of water on the correct shelf. He hands them to her, her gloves radiating warmth to his cold fingers. 

“Thank you…” she trails off. 

“My name is Furihata Kouki.” 

The girl froze. She seemed to stiffen to a frozen position like he had grown another limb before her head snapped up and she nods her head as if forcing to act normal. “Thank you...Furihata-kun.” 

It was the first time he got a good look at her face. She was beautiful, with transparent skin and big blue, unassuming eyes. Her dark eyelashes flutter when they meet his. Every feature seems delicate and he realizes for the first time how tiny the girl was, reaching around 160 centimeters. Her hair was long and layers in natural curls around her like a halo. 

She was eying him, her gaze ringing with a certain familiarity as if they had met before. He leads her up to the front desk, trying to ignore the wide-eyed blue orbs watching his every move. It felt as if the girl knew how to burn a hole into someone’s back like it was a pastime. He tells her the price and she hands him the due amount and more. He stares in shock at what was placed in his hand; there, in his palm, rests ten gold pieces, much more than any of the bouquets in the shop.

“Ma’am,” he stutters, “T-This is too much! I can’t take this!” 

She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Oh? You’re going to deny my generosity?” 

“No!” he immediately denies, almost shouting. He was sputtering in his place, stiff and staring in wonder between the girl with blue hair and gold pieces. “It’s not that, it’s not -” 

“I was joking,” she says flatly. He straightens up and falls silent in amazement. He notes the gleam in her eyes. It was one of jolly sarcasm, like someone told her an amusing secret, like the weather on a mischievous day, like a joke at an inappropriate time. 

It is quiet and he gives her the flowers back after accounting for them. Their fingers brush and she is so cold, and he knows that she is burning underneath. He bows in thanks and she smiles back. It’s a soft one, barely there, and it fit the situation perfectly. It tells him she barely smiles and when she does it’s for a good reason, for something worth smiling about. 

She begins to walk towards the door and there is so much he wants to say, but she is leaving. He wants to shout after her, are you sure you should go out there?, it’s cold just stay here until the storm fades, please, please tell me who you are, why won’t you take back the gold pieces and why would you give them to me of all people. She is opening the door and above the rain she says something. 

He wants to have missed it, wants to believe she just left and he mistook the words but god damn it there’s no way one can miss that of all things, why why why and it’s like a dark wave pulling you back in once you get closer to shore, once you’re sure you’re done and safe, once you’re not drowning anymore. It was like when your eyes are growing hazy late at night and your mind is full of monsters that keep you up despite wanting to rest more than anything. It was the whisper. 

Because Furihata Kouki is a young man who isn’t strong enough yet to fight the waves and swim, so he drowns all over again when he stupidly jumps in the water, eyes closed and without realizing it again. 

Because the girl is mysterious and dressed in nice clothing that is soaked to the bone, and her blue hair is curly and long and regal and she was so quiet and hiding something that Furihata didn’t push on because’s he’s a fucking considerate person, who allows himself to be walked on all over by his past. If he had known who she was before, he would’ve liked to believe he would refuse her business and send her away without any other words. 

It was all because she said, “He still whispers about you, you know,” that his world came crashing down again despite believing he had built firm walls up.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i love akafuri and this going to be a series of oneshots that im really excited for because i have so many ideas. im already starting on the second one as i type this. can't wait. 
> 
> so it says, "au but i dont know what kind of au this is" its true, and basically just that. it's kind of inspired by the past, due to the titles of "emperor," and kings and queens of the sorts but i can't place my finger on the word, though i also like some hints of modern things. which is why i didn't place it as just in the past. 
> 
> thank you for reading so much!! it means a lot!


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